


Remember me love when I'm reborn

by Atlanta_Black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: In one life Harry Potter lies dead on a forest floor. Eyes unseeing and body cold. Voldemort laughs and tries to ignore the gaping emptiness that has expanded in his chest.In another, time ripples and Harry appears in the middle of a forest. Eyes bright and death wrapped around her like a cloak.In a life that could have been, Harry flings herself from Hagrid’s arms and wins the war. Lives her life ignoring the gaping hole in her chest where someone else’s soul used to sit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auspicium (latenightfangirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightfangirl/gifts).



One day Fawkes sits straight up and lets out a chilling cry that causes Dumbledore’s bones to ache in warning.

 

In a spot on the other side of England time ripples and Harry Potter appears.

 

And in a forest in Albania death runs a finger down Tom Riddle’s spine and _smiles._

.

.

.

The first time the shade that calls itself Tom Riddle sees her, it’s through Ginerva’s eyes and he remembers, he had eyed her sticky pink, dollar store lip gloss with absolute disgust.

 

This, this tiny wisp of a girl, was the one fated to defeat him and he has never felt such rage in his life.

 

_This is a lie._

 

Later, Ginerva writes about the girl with the kind of reverence one usually reserved for deities and Tom Riddle wonders how anyone could possible be in awe of Harry Potter.

 

Many months later he’ll have a split second to watch her drive a basilisk fang into the container keeping him alive and he’ll think _this is how it feels to ascend. To watch ichor bleed from your soul and see yourself reflected back in eyes that look nothing like your own._  

.

.

.

Harry Potter spends months dreaming of dark, dark eyes and remembering the way that the horcrux had bled dark magic when she’d stabbed it. Dreams of a black mist that had curled itself around her body and sunk into her skin and she doesn’t tell anyone because her need to survive will never be conquered by Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes.

 

_She only tells one other person but Ginny Weasley still wakes up muttering Tom’s secrets under her breath. She has a whole wealth of secrets clutched to her chest, Harry’s is just one more in the growing list._

_._

_._

_._

_._

The second time Tom Riddle sees her, in a body that is still his own, she’s sixteen years old and he still eyes her hastily applied lip gloss with something approaching contempt. Trails his eyes down the red hair falling down her back and thinks _this is who Dumbledore let's into our school. This mudblood eyesore who looks like a strong wind could blow her over._

 

It isn’t until she looks across the hall, eyes unerringly finding his, that he feels something in his chest pause, stutter. Her eyes are luminescent in the dim lighting of the great hall and he wonders, for just a moment, barely even a moment long enough to draw a breath, he wonders _is this what it feels like to have the gods turn their gaze upon you, is this what it feels like to have divinity seared into your skin—_

 

Time has always been such a strange thing for these two and somewhere, in a dingy pub a seer recites a prophecy but that’s neither here nor there. For Harry is there but also here and Tom will always be here. Although a strange, half formed shade that sometimes thinks of itself as Tom Riddle is there and a girl who still thinks of herself as _just_ Harry is there to the right.

.

.

.

.

.

She stares at him.

 

Stares at him with eyes the same color of the curse that itches at the tips of his fingers.

 

 _Harry Evans_ his classmates sneer. Another mudblood  who doesn’t know her place, who doesn’t realize that this world will never belong to her.

 

 _Harry Evans_ his teachers say, something approaching reverence in their voices. And oh Merlin, how Tom hates her for stealing even the tiniest bit of sunlight away from him.

 

Sometimes, sometimes he dreams of killing curse green eyes and then dreams of what they would like dulled, flat, dead. _He only dreams this once before the sick feeling in his chest buries the dream far, far away._

.

.

.

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The locket that calls itself Marvolo spends a lot of time around Harry Potter’s neck. The locket that is at once both Tom Riddle and Voldemort. The locket that is smart enough to acknowledge that it is both of these people and neither of them at the same time.

 

He spends days upon days hanging around her neck, listening to the beat of her heart. Memorizing the hum of her magic.

 

In the days leading up to its destruction it wonders about lives that could have been. Wonders about girls with too much luck and eyes just a little too bright.

 

Thinks about the past, about fate, about loops and what once happened will happen again but _what if it doesn’t?_

 

Harry Potter lets her blood traitor friend stab a sword through the essence of everything that holds Marvolo together and he laughs. Laughs until he can feel it reverberate through all the soul that was left to him and he thinks _this is what it is to be touched by something higher than yourself. This is what it is to look at the red of your blood next to the ichor of a gods and see that you will not ever belong._

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.

.

.

.

Ron and Hermione spent most of their school years shielding Harry with their bodies, their words, their wands, whatever they had at their disposal. People looked at the too thin form of the girl who lived and all they saw was bright red hair and even brighter eyes.

 

_You look just like your mother except you have your father’s messy hair!_

 

 _I am not my mother._ She snarls, the green of her tie hanging like a noose around her neck.

 

_I see you inherited your fathers penchant for mischief._

 

 _I will never have the mercy of being like my father._ She spits, the blood of the dead sitting heavy upon her shoulders.

.

.

.

.

The first time Hermione sees Harry Potter, she’s curled in a corner of a train apartment looking like death warmed over.

 

Hermione had been expecting a lot of things from Harry Potter. Had been expecting a boy for one. Not this too thin girl who looks like a slight wind would blow her away.

 

But if she had been expecting a girl, she would have expected one more like the prim, proper elitist bullies that she had left behind in the muggle world. Not a girl wearing a too big band t-shirt as a dress over a pair of tights.

 

Harry Potter meets her eyes and for a second it feels as if she’s forgotten how to breathe. The green of her eyes so bright that Hermione momentarily forgets that anything else exists.

 

_The moment ends._

 

And all that’s left is Harry staring at her in confusion, the brightness of her eyes dulled by some emotion she can’t place.

.

.

.

.

This could have been the story of a girl who went to Hogwarts and formed an army without ever lifting a finger.

 

The story of a girl who gained people’s loyalty despite the color of her tie, not because of it.

 

And in a way this is that story. Except the story doesn’t end there. Harry Potter has never been destined for an easy life, did she really think it would end just like that?

_._

_._

_._

_._

Harry Potter dies on a forest floor and when she opens her eyes there’s nothing but white for as far as she can see.

 

She dies in a forest with nothing but the promise of giving her friends a fighting chance and her soul shudders, trembles, tries to release the piece that doesn’t belong but merlin, they’ve been wrapped together for _so so long._

 

“Do you want to go back?” she startles, head snapping up from where she’d been staring at the misshapen creatures in her arms.

 

There’s a being in front of her that looks like Dumbledore. Like Fred. Like Tonks. Looks like everyone she’s ever lost and she recoils even though she knows this can’t be real.

 

“Of course I’m real you silly girl. It is not my fault you can not yet perceive my form.” the being says, sounding both exasperated and endless and Harry squints her eyes, tilts her head.

 

If she holds her head just so and squints her eyes just right the endless flipping of faces stops and all she can see is an indescribable shape of darkness.

 

“Where am I?” she asks, careful to not move her head.

 

“You are here. A place that not many ever see. A place that is both there and here and everywhere else as well.”

 

She doesn’t move, blinks once, clutches the creature in her arms tighter.

 

“I don’t understand.” she admits.

 

“No, you cannot, you haven’t been alive quite long enough yet. But still there is a choice that you must make regardless of whether or not you understand and it is simple yet not at all.”

 

“Does one of these choices involve being with my parents?” she barely dares to ask the question above a whisper. Barely dares to hope that this is it, that it could be that easy.

 

“No.” the words ring with finality, with forever and she bites her lip, squeezes her eyes shut.

 

“Then what are they?”

 

“Release the being that you still hold clutched to your chest or continue to hold onto it, even after you have moved from this place.”

 

She opens her eyes.

.

.

.

.

One reality fades, another begins.

 

Harry Potter opens her eyes in 1942 and in another life Harry Potter never opens her eyes again.

 

There are always choices to be made, always so many paths to take. Harry Potter, unfortunately, has more weight behind her choices than most people will ever have.

.

.

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.

Harriette Potter is born on July 31st and the first time Lily holds her she cries. Runs her hands through the red tufts of hair and cries. James affectionately calls her Harry, voice breaking, sobs catching in his throat. Sirius storms out of the room, ripping the first calendar he sees to shreds.

 

_Not Harry, please not Harry._

 

Harry is born into sadness. Into war. Into heartbreak and death. And in every life death follows Harry around like an old friend.

 

In every life Lily sacrifices herself to save her child. In every life James dies trying to save his family. And in every life, Sirius runs off to avenge the death of his friends.

 

_In every life, they all leave Harry alone._

.

.

.

.

 

In one life Harry Potter lies dead on a forest floor. Eyes unseeing and body cold. Voldemort laughs and tries to ignore the gaping emptiness that has expanded in his chest.

 

In another, time ripples and Harry appears in the middle of a forest. Eyes bright and death wrapped around her like a cloak.

 

_In a life that could have been, Harry flings herself from Hagrid’s arms and wins the war. Lives her life ignoring the gaping hole in her chest where someone else’s soul used to sit._

.

.

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.

Harry doesn’t think she ever truly hated Voldemort until she heard her mother begging for her life. Doesn’t think she truly understood what she had lost.

 

_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --_

 

She had hated the idea of him. Had hated the ideals he stood for. Until that moment she thinks she had hated the shade of Tom Riddle more than anyone.

 

Riddle had stood in the Chamber of Secrets and mocked her. Taunted her. Held Ginny’s life above her head like a shiny toy.

 

_Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?_

 

But Riddle hadn’t murdered her parents. Oh he had known about it but it wasn’t personal for him. Harry’s existence had offended him but he hadn’t cared about her parents at all.

 

Voldemort though had murder her mother while she begged and if Harry knew one thing, it was that Lily Evans did not beg for things. Had never begged for anything except for her daughters life. And that was all it took to make her hate him. To make the entire war entirely too personal.

 

She failed to realize that the war had been personal since the moment she was conceived. Their lives had been intertwined long before she existed in this reality and would be intertwined long after she existed in the next.

.

.

.

.

This is how it goes--

 

Harry Potter is flung into existence in a time that is not her own, in a universe that was never going to create her and she is angry. She is burning with the injustice of it all.

 

She’s been torn from her friends, her only family, into a world that doesn’t have a chance of understanding her.

 

She’s alone. Again. And she wants to pull the entire world down with her.

 

_Hermione and Ron will shadow her movements for the rest of her life and she will never never never have friends that close to her again._

 

Harry enters her sixth year at Hogwarts for the second time and burns with injustice.

 

There’s a certain irony behind finally being sorted into the house of her parents and yet having no one around who realizes the significance. No one who realizes how wrong the sorting is.

 

Just like there’s a certain irony in being seated two tables away from her parents future murderer and doing nothing about it. Knowing she will never do anything about it.

 

_She wants to watch the world burn and what better way to do that, than to let Tom Riddle run unchecked._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t belong here,” he says, voice sure, and releases her throat, runs a curious finger over the scar on her forehead as she gasps for air. 
> 
> She feels nothing. He runs a finger over the scar that holds a piece of a soul that once belonged to him, and she feels nothing. If nothing else has convinced her that this an entirely new world, this does.

The second time the shade who still thinks of himself as Tom Riddle sees her she’s twelve years old. Twelve years old and filthy, soaking wet, eyes too big in her face. Twelve years old and he is both captivated and disgusted by her.

 

She’s wandless, sitting in a puddle on the hard ground, and when he tells her that her friend is dying she shrugs gracelessly.

 

“I don’t really understand why you think you’re going to get away with doing such a stupid thing, but if you want to believe that you can,” she says the words with the calmness of someone who knows they’re right, and he does not know what to do in the face of that.

 

This is the girl who is prophesied to defeat him. To bring about his complete and total downfall.

 

The shade that is everything Tom Riddle was bares his teeth and snarls meaningless threats.  Tells her that she will fall beneath his wand and later he watches her stab a basilisk fang into his Horcrux with a feeling that is close approaching resigned.

 

_He watches her stab a fang into everything that he once was and thinks to himself that this is what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself. To be so controlled by fate that there was never any hope of a different ending._

.

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.

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The second time the abomination that calls itself Voldemort sees her she’s eleven years old. All bright eyes, bright hair and too thin wrists that make him think of a childhood that barely belongs to him anymore.

 

Her hair is a tangled mess down her back, eyes too big in her too thin face, and he feels a surge of anger. Dumbledore is raising the perfect puppet and she has no idea.

 

_Join me, Harry Potter. You could be great. Could have the whole world bowing at your feet._

 

He sees her waver. Watches her hesitate, fingers curled into fists and chest heaving. Watches her eyes flicker to the doorway of fire and whoever lies behind it is enough to erase the brief moment of hesitation. But he saw, he knows. For just a second she had been tempted.

 

_LIar. Never._

 

She snarls the words out with a vehemence that honestly surprises him. A pity. He would have let her be free if she had joined him. Would have helped her shake off whatever invisible shackles Dumbledore has wrapped around her wrists.  

 

He finds later, after he’s left the castle and found a new body to host his spirit in, that he wasn’t surprised he had been unable to kill her.

 

If it had been that easy then she would have died eleven years ago when he had shot the killing curse at her head. No, it would take something spectacular to take her down.

.

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.

.

Harry Potter dies on a forest floor in 1998, and in 1942, Harry Evans walks through the gates of Hogwarts with a barely-there cover story and a wand that feels wrong in her hands.

 

_11’’ Acacia with the core of a horned serpent horn._

 

It answers to her Magic well enough. Hums underneath her fingers. But her magic still aches for the familiar buzz of Holly and Phoenix feather that she had held for seven years. No matter how well it fits her magic it does not fit her. Just as this world does not fit her.

 

There are just enough subtle changes in this world to make her realize how truly out of place she is.

 

She had walked through Diagon Alley when she’d first arrived and silently cataloged the missing shops in her mind. Had noted the absence of Tom the barkeeper and realized that she didn’t know if it was because he just wasn’t there yet or because he didn’t exist. There were lots of small details she was realizing she didn’t know the answer to.

 

But as much as things change some things still remain the same. Shops change, people didn’t yet exist, but the dark, gloomy atmosphere that was hanging above the alley had not changed. People still looked over their shoulders far too often and clutched their children just a little too tight. And she kept catching glimpses of a symbol that was now burned onto her hip.

 

She hadn’t realized that Grindelwald was so prominent in this time. Had thought that Dumbledore defeated him before he gained any real influence in England. But everywhere she turned she saw people wearing the deathly hallows as a symbol. Whether it be on pendants, watches, sewn into the clothes they wore, or even as a tattoo.

 

She wonders if she hadn’t just exchanged one war for another. Knows that there is no way she won’t be dragged into this one in some way.

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The first time Dumbledore sees her he thinks _change_ and then immediately thinks _threat_. There is something about the vibrancy of her eyes that leaves him unsettled, and he watches her lock eyes with Tom Riddle and feels a chill slide down his spine.

 

It had been only a handful of days ago that Fawkes had sat up and let out a cry that had caused his bones to ache. Had left him checking around every corner for a threat. And now here is this girl with eyes like death and the first person she shows interest in is Tom Riddle.

 

_In every life, Dumbledore meets eleven-year-old Tom Riddle and deems him a threat. In every life, they will spend their lives working towards the downfall of the other._

 

He watches her get sorted into Gryffindor and wishes that her house placement could soothe his suspicious. She’s not eleven years old though. Not young and malleable. She claims to be sixteen, and he doesn’t know where she’s been or who she supports and that just will not do.

 

He clutches the pendant hidden in his robes and thinks about youth. About what it was like all those years ago to look in his blue eyes and feel invincible. Thinks about what it feels like to know they will be on top of the world one day.

 

They would be great and a couple of school children were not going to stop them.

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She can feel Dumbledore’s eyes on her. She’d spent all of her sixth year wishing he would pay attention to her, and now here she is in this new time and all she wants is for him to leave her alone. She looks around, picking out familiar faces, many of which are staring at her in fascination. A teenager standing in the middle of a crowd of eleven year olds.

 

She’s looking at the Slytherin table, wondering if all the Malfoy males are just cursed to look exactly alike, when she makes eye contact with _him._

 

She has to squash her immediate urge to draw her wand. Something must show on her face though because for a second his eyes draw together in confusion as he stares at her. She’s too far away from him to make out the small details of his expression, but she knows contempt when she sees it. Knows it even more intimately when it is on his face. Every piece of him had held the same expression when they looked at her. Contempt mingled with some emotion she had never been able to place.

 

She jerks her eyes away from his, let him stare. She is not here to play war with Tom Riddle. Not this time. Not this life. This life was going to be hers.

 

“We have a transfer student this year. Harry Evans will be joining us for her sixth year and I hope you all make her feel welcomed.” Dippet’s speech is short and straight to the point.

 

She’s sure Dumbledore would have managed to find a way to bring the war into her introduction and she’s thankful that he isn’t the headmaster yet.

 

She sits down on the sorting stool, the stares of every person in the great hall pricking at her skin.

 

 _Oh, well aren’t you an interesting girl._ The hat’s voice is both intrigued and amused, and she sighs.

 

_Not all that interesting really. Just extremely unlucky._

 

There’s a pause as the hat shuffles through her memories. _Yes, you are extraordinarily unlucky but you are also quite an interesting girl. It’s not just any 17-year old that can claim the title Master of Death._

 

She stiffens underneath the hat. _I will burn you if you dare tell anyone about that._

 

_I won’t tell anyone child, there’s no need to throw threats around so casually. Now, where should I put you? You did rather well in Slytherin the first time around. Much better than anyone expected you to._

 

She hesitates. Slytherin would be comfortable, would be home. She’d spent six years living in the dungeons and she knew them better than she knew herself some days.

 

_No. He’s in Slytherin and I don’t care to interact with him._

 

_You can’t avoid him forever, you’ve already sparked his interest._

 

_Yes, well, I can do my best and being in Slytherin won’t help me. I don’t care where I go, just not there. Not Slytherin._

 

 _Well, if not Slytherin then there’s really only one option left. I think you’ll be just fine in_ GRYFFINDOR!

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.

Gryffindor is loud. Loud and bright and everyone is falling over themselves to catch up with each other. It’s not like she didn’t know how Gryffindor was. She’d spent plenty of evenings in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione. Suffered through the suspicious stares so that they could spend time together.

 

But she had always left at the end of the night. Retreated to the dungeons. To the quietness of the Slytherin common room. The calmness that being surrounded by a lake seemed to bring. She’d retreated and found comfort in Theo’s hidden insults and Daphne’s subtle barbs. The way they had smiled at her and taught her how to blend in.

 

Slytherin had never welcomed her with open arms but regardless she had carved out a spot for herself. Had found friends and formed alliances and fought tooth and nail to maintain her standing in the house. By the time Voldemort had returned in her fourth year she had earned the respect of the house. Had earned enough respect that they didn’t immediately try to turn her over the next year.

 

Oh, she knows there were plenty that wanted to. That whispered about loyalty and punishment and _what about our lord?_ What about the cause that we’ve promised ourselves to?

 

But there were also those who whispered about house loyalty. She’s one of us. Earned her place the same as the rest of us. Where do we draw the line? Where does house loyalty stop mattering? Those who muttered under the breath _she’s just as much a snake as the rest of us._

 

Gryffindor is nothing like that. Where Slytherin had been quiet whispers and alliances, Gryffindor is sideway glances and loud words aimed to hurt. Pointed looks and you don’t belong here, will never belong here.

 

_Your parents were braver than you will ever be. Imagine how disappointed they would be._

 

Nobody in 1942 knows who she is, but the judgement still lingers all the same. They know there’s something different about her, and she has yet to have even one of them offer her a kind word.

 

She spells her bed curtains closed. This is supposed to be the house of the light, but she knows from stories that Hermione told her that the light can hurt you just as badly as the dark.

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She avoids him for a week. Goes an entire week avoiding eye contact. Sitting on the opposite side of the classroom. Sitting with her back to him in the great hall. Goes an entire week without any human contact other than the teachers.

 

Not one person has made a move to befriend her, and she thinks her easy acceptance of that has made them even more wary of extending any offers of friendship.

 

She knows any friendship offered would pale in comparison to Hermione and Ron. Any alliances would be weak compared to Daphne and Theo. Knows that the Slytherins won’t give her a second glance and the Gryffindors think she’s touched. So, why bother trying? Especially since she has yet to figure out exactly how much this world differs from her own.

 

She knows Grindelwald has an extremely widespread influence in Britain, but she can’t figure out why. She knows that the girls in her dorm whisper about Tom Riddle in low, reverent tones. Knows that the boys in her year look up to him despite him being in Slytherin. But she’s not sure if that was true in her own world or not.

 

She knows that Tom Riddle watches her. Tracks her existence like a curious specimen that he can’t quite figure out. Knows that it’s only a matter of time until he approaches her and it is making her skin crawl.

 

She spends most of her free time in the library reading and so it seems inevitable that he would find her there. She’s hidden in a corner near the back, books spread out around her and a notepad balanced on the arm of the chair.

 

That’s how he finds her. Books spread out, wand behind her ear, eyebrows drawn together and the feeling of magic surrounding her like an ever present hum.

 

“Are you one of his then?” Riddle’s voice washes over her like cold water. She jerks, notepad falling to the ground, and looks up to find him surveying the books spread around her with a curious gleam in his eyes.

 

“Excuse me?” she answers, the response automatic. If you can’t think of a response, stall. Pretend you didn’t hear what they said.

 

He pauses, stares at her. She watches his eyes flick over the different books she has spread out and wishes that she had thought to use a concealing charm. But she hadn’t thought anyone would wander this far back into the library.

 

“One of his,” he repeats, eyes intent on her face again. “I assumed you know who I’m talking about?” he asks, voice polite but eyes sharp.

 

“I can’t say I do,” she replies, although she has a nasty feeling curling in her stomach.

 

“Really?” he cocks his head, smiles slowly. “Because you certainly don’t seem to be here to make friends. So, I can only assume that you’re here to perform research for him.”

 

“And I’ve already told you that I don’t know who this him that you’re talking about is.”

 

“You have. I just don’t believe you.”

 

“Well that’s not my problem,” she snaps, resists the urge to throw a book at that perfect, smug face. “I don’t belong to anybody though. So, whoever this mysterious him is, I am not one of his. I am nobody’s.”

 

There’s a long pause and Harry tries her best to ignore him. To go back to her books and ignore the fact that she can feel his eyes burning holes into the top of her head.

 

“Dumbledore.”

 

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

 

“Are you one of Dumbledore’s sheep?”

 

She laughs. A loud, sharp noise that catches them both by surprise. “I will never be one of Dumbledore’s. Not in this life.”

 

His eyes narrow and he takes a step closer. “If you’re not one of his, then pray tell what you’re doing researching death magic.”

 

“Pray tell,” she echoes back. “What a very muggle phrase.”

 

There’s a brief moment where she can see the shock on his face, but it’s gone so fast it could have been an illusion. A trick of shadows.

 

“Yet somehow, you recognized it instantly,” he says, voice low, and she can see something dangerous blossoming in his eyes.

 

“Takes one to know one, Riddle. Besides, I have no reputation to destroy.”

 

There’s an ugly, twisted look that falls on his features at her words, and he stalks forward, intent clear in his steps.

 

“Perhaps you have no reputation, but I can destroy a person just as well,” he hisses the words out, and she tilts her head back to look up at him and smile.

 

“You will never be able to destroy me, Tom Riddle. Not in this life. Not in the next.”

 

He lets out an angry hiss, one hand snapping out to grab her throat and pull her up to face him. His eyes are narrowed, angry slits that dimly remind of her that time in the chamber and the way he had stared down at her on the stone floor. The way he hissed threats and stared at her with hatred. The way his eyes had narrowed when she’d stabbed a basilisk fang through the diary and into the core of everything that held him together.

 

“Something about you makes my brain itch,” he mutters, hand still tight around her throat. “Like my skin is too tight and everything in the world has shifted to make room for you.”

 

She lets out a shallow breath and hums quietly. He frowns, some of the anger bleeding out of his features, and she watches him run his eyes across her face.

 

“You don’t belong here,” he says, voice sure, and releases her throat, runs a curious finger over the scar on her forehead as she gasps for air.

 

She feels nothing. He runs a finger over the scar that holds a piece of a soul that once belonged to him, and she feels nothing. If nothing else has convinced her that this an entirely new world, this does.

 

“Maybe I don’t belong here,” she says, voice hoarse. “But I am here and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“We’ll see Harry Evans.” He turns to leave and just as if it seems that will be the end of it, he pauses, turns back. “One thing though. If Dumbledore approaches you, remember, he is not what he says.”

 

“What, scared he’ll take down your budding empire?” she asks, voice mocking.

 

“Scared?” he laughs quietly. “No. Grindelwald on the other hand, I am reasonably wary of, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try and murder me as a gift to his lover.”

 

And then he’s gone and all that’s left is a girl, sitting on the floor surrounded by books. She gapes after him, surely he isn’t implying what she thinks he is. She runs a finger over the bruises she can feel blossoming on her throat and tries to fit the pieces of Dumbledore and Grindelwald as lovers into an idea that fits.

 

It’s much easier than she had expected, and she feels a chill crawl down her spine as she thinks of the implications of that.


	3. Chapter 3

_ So this is how it goes —  _

 

Death watches its chosen one grow and waits. Waits for her to collect its relics. Waits for her to willingly walk to her death. 

 

And when she arrives he sends her back.

 

She wasn’t ready to take up the title yet and so he sends her somewhere else. Somewhere that can nurture some of that darkness lurking in her soul. 

 

Death waits and watches. 

 

Watches a different child grow up and try to cheat death and he bares his teeth. Grins in a way that is both terrifying and entrancing and yet neither of these things at the same time. 

 

How do you describe an entity that exists only to wait for you to end?

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The first time she summons the cloak to her the smell of smoke and ash and  _ home _ brings her to her knees. She sits on her bed, face buried in the cloak, and for the first time since she arrived in this time, she cries. She lets the tears run down her face and she thinks of the stone and of her friends and she  _ aches aches aches _ —she picks herself up eventually, wipes her cheeks. 

 

She wraps the cloak around her and heads towards the Astronomy Tower. She hasn’t been there since Dumbledore died and even though this is a different time, a different world, the Tower still seems heavy with his death. With Bellatrix’s laughter and Harry’s panic and Draco’s shame. Feels heavy with fear and pain and  _ please please please don’t leave me alone.  _

 

Feels like the point when she finally realized that Ron and Hermione were never going to leave her side. That nothing she did was ever going to run them off. It seems fitting that fate would conspire to have her leave them instead. Take her worst fear and turn it into something she can blame on herself. 

 

The halls are quiet and she ends up only passing one person on her way to the Tower. It’s odd, sneaking around the castle without the threat of Snape looming over her head. Odd in a way that leaves an uncomfortable lump lodged in her chest. Makes her think of all the teachers she’ll never see again. Makes her think once again of her friends. 

 

Every thought always leads back to them and she wants this ever-present ache in her chest to just go away. Wants to stop aching so desperately for people she’ll never see again. 

 

_ Even if they are born in this world, they will never remember her. Will never know that she walked into the forest and died for them. Seeing a pale imitation of her friends would hurt more than never seeing them again.  _

 

She sighs, staring up the stairs, dread curling into a ball in her stomach. She stands at the bottom just looking into the darkness for far longer than she would admit. When she finally starts up the stairs, Dumbledore's voice as he pleaded with Snape echoed through her mind. Draco’s screams in the Room of Requirement and his face as he pointed his wand at Dumbledore. Snape’s glare a constant fixture, even on one of the worst nights of her life. 

 

She’s still lost in her thoughts as she reaches the top of the stairs. The cold hits her face and she lets out a shaky breath, eyes stinging. The lake is stretched out in front of her and the sky looks as if it could go on forever and she just wants to leave. Wants to get on her broom and fly away and leave and never come back. Wants to fly to where the ocean meets the sky. She didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask to be stuck in this world. 

 

Her feet have led her to the edge of the Tower and she balances there, nothing to stop her from falling except a very low railing. It reminds her of the train station. Of standing on the edge of the train tracks with nothing but white for miles and no soul in sight.

 

_ She wonders — if she jumped, if she died, would she just end up in another universe where she is all alone? _

 

She catches a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and jerks, losing her balance for one heart stopping moment and then a hand is grabbing the back of her robe tugging her farther into the Tower. 

 

She spins around and blinks. Tom bloody Riddle is standing there, hand still outstretched and eyes wild. 

 

“Were you about to jump?” he whispers, voice harsh. 

 

She stares. Blinks again. Being dragged from her thoughts by Tom of all people is jarring. He doesn’t fit into the haze of memories she’d been thinking of. Doesn’t fit into any part of her life, if she’s being honest. 

 

“No.” She blinks, absently runs her fingers through her hair. “Why would I jump?” she asks as if she hadn’t just been contemplating the ramifications.

 

He gives a short laugh, the sound strained. “Do you have any idea what you looked like just then?” His voice is still harsh even as the wild look leaves his eyes. 

 

She cocks her head, backs up a step and watches his eyes dart between her feet and the edge. 

 

“What are you doing up here, Riddle?” 

 

He scoffs, derision clear in the sound. The noise is especially loud in the quiet of the Tower.  “I should be asking you that, Evans. What are you doing up here? One of us is a prefect and it isn’t you.”  

 

She smiles, turns and grabs her cloak. Doesn’t bother answering his question. She almost makes it to the stairs before his voice stops her again. 

 

“Do you really not know why I think you would jump?” he asks and there’s a note of real curiosity lingering under the derision still coating his words. 

 

She hesitates. Sighs. Turns back around, holding the cloak like a shield between them. 

 

“I’m actually more surprised that you didn’t want the satisfaction of pushing me off yourself,” she says, voice tired. “But do go ahead, enlighten me.” 

 

“You seem to think you know so much about me,” he all but snarls, eyes narrowed. 

 

She says nothing, staring at him expectantly. Maybe he isn’t exactly the same as the Riddle of her world but he’s close enough that she sees no difference. 

 

“You have no friends.” he finally spits out. “You have no friends. No connections. You talk to no one except for the professors. I know the Gryffindors don’t like you and none of the other houses care because you aren’t one of them. Total isolation is more than enough to push someone into jumping off of a Tower.” He’s almost raised his voice by the time he finishes. He’s agitated and trying to hide it but his eyes have taken on that almost-wild look again. She can see his fingers just barely twitching and she wonders if the Riddle of her world had been this obvious with his tells. Or is she just destined to get under his skin no matter what universe she exists in? 

 

She purses her lips, absently runs her fingers through her hair again as she considers him. “I don’t want friends, Riddle. I don’t want connections.”

 

“Everybody wants friends,” he snaps, the words automatic. 

 

“Everybody except you,” she replies and watches his features twist into something angry. He looks so similar to the Tom Riddle from the diary that she finds herself tracing his edges, waiting to see if he’ll flicker out of existence. 

 

“I know it’s a difficult concept for you to grasp but I have no desire to be friends with anyone. I had friends and I lost them. I’m quite done with the whole thing,” she says after a moment. She can’t quite help the sadness that leaks into her voice at the end. 

 

He’s staring at her, something bright sparking in his eyes and she doesn’t care to know what it is. Doesn’t care to know what idea his brain has focused on this time. 

 

She glances towards the lake one more time before turning and fleeing down the stairs before he can get another word in. Flinging the cloak around herself as soon as she’s out of sight. 

 

His outraged face as he stands at the bottom of the stairs, only a few feet away, warms her bones just a little. There are few things that bring her joy in this world but watching the confusion and shock play across his face brings her just enough to carry on. 

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The first time she sees the abomination that calls itself Voldemort she’s eleven years old and her heart feels too big for her body. Bones feel too fragile to be stood opposite the monster who murdered her parents. 

 

He’s barely there, a shade stuck on the back of someone else’s head and she can’t even find it in her to muster up the hate she knows she should have. The only emotion she can find within herself is pity. Pity and a deep, unwavering fear that she has led her friends to their deaths. 

 

_ Join me, Harry Potter. You could be great. Could have the whole world bowing at your feet. _

 

She hesitates. Wavers. Thinks of the cupboard that she’s heading back to soon and the hunger pains that have haunted her forever. Thinks of bruises and  _ look at the freak, clean the kitchen, weed the garden, don’t ask questions freak freak freak fre— _

 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her while she hesitates. His eyes are  _ so so so  _ red and she has the wild, hysterical thought they almost match. Him with the red eyes and her with her bright hair. Has the wild absolutely ridiculous thought that she could see herself joining him. 

 

But she thinks of freckles, of warmth, of Ron smiling at her, eyes alight with mischief. Thinks of eyes like honey, hugs warmer than blankets, late night conversations when she’s supposed to be in her own dorm, of Hermione never faltering in her friendship. She thinks of friendship and disappointment and she is better than this, is supposed to be better than this. 

 

_ Liar. Never. _ She spits the words with all the venom she can, the weight of what she’s giving up heavy on her shoulders and she is so very angry. Angry at the world, at the Dursleys but not at him. 

 

_ She thinks she hates herself just a little bit for that.  _

 

Later in the hospital she pulls the bandages off of her hands and stares at the blisters on her skin. They told her that they would scar if she wasn’t careful. That she had to make sure to finish letting them heal or her hands would be scarred and wouldn’t that just be an absolute shame.  

 

She’s not sure why she should be ashamed of scars that she earned. Scars that she earned ridding the world of someone everyone claims to hate. She’s always told to be proud of the one on her forehead even though she did nothing to earn it. Even though it’s cost was her parents and a happy life. 

 

She presses her hands to the table, watches the blisters pop and smiles while tears fall down her face. 

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Weeks have passed and one morning finds Harry sitting under a tree near the lake. Winter is close and soon it will be too cold to just sit in the grass like this. The sun is warm against her skin and she leans her head back, soaking up as much of the warmth as she can. 

 

Grindewald’s name has not left the back of her mind since that encounter with Riddle in the library. She hasn’t forgotten all she learned about Dumbledore in her universe. Hasn’t forgotten that once upon a time her Dumbledore had been lovers with a man who promoted genocide and complete subjugation of muggles. She had never thought that Dumbledore would stay that man. Had never contemplated that there were universes where Arianna died and he still stood by Grindewald’s side. 

 

She also doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do about it. Doesn’t know why she’s in this universe other than death being a vindictive bastard. Doesn’t know if she wants to do anything about it. She feels that it’s safe to assume that Tom will cause plenty of havoc himself once he graduates. So, does she really have to anything? 

 

She could just fuck off once she graduates and go travel the world. Go hunker down somewhere in America and wait for the war to be over. She doesn’t have to get involved. She has no friends in this time. No connections. 

 

She sighs. She’s thinking in circles and every thought just sounds like an excuse. She knows too much. Knows that Dumbledore is still searching for the Hallows. Knows that they won’t work for him and that he will never find them. 

 

She groans, flopping back onto the grass. She wishes Ron was here. Wishes that she had Hermione here to tell her what to do. Wishes that Ron was here to make badly-timed jokes. Wishes that she wasn’t facing down the rest of eternity by herself. 

 

Eternity had never sounded that bad when she had been with them. But here she is facing down the rest of eternity and ready to fucking buckle from imagining a thousand more days just like this. A thousand more days all alone. 

 

“You do realize that class begins in ten minutes, Evans.” 

 

She jolts upright, eyes squinting in the sun. For a moment, less than a second, Tom is stood above her, framed by the sun and she shivers. Feels her stomach plummet and remembers that once upon a time, she had been twelve years old and thought he was handsome. Thought he looked like someone who could rescue her from everything. 

 

_ There is only power and those too weak too see it…..Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?  _ His words from the chamber drift through her mind and she feels her soul shiver, quake. Feels the part that will always be his strain towards its counterpart in this world.

 

The moment passes and she pushes down the urge to reach her hands towards his. 

 

“Evans!” he snaps, “Did you not hear me?” 

 

She blinks, tugs at her skirt. “I heard you. I’m not going,” she says even as she stands up. 

 

“I’m a prefect, Evans. If you tell me that I have to take points from your house,” he says, nose in the air and for a minute he reminds her so strongly of Percy at his worst that she giggles. 

 

She claps a hand over her mouth, horrified, but the damage is already done. He’s staring at her, eyes wide, and that strange bright light back in his eyes. 

 

“Do you feel brave, Tom Riddle?” she asks, the words bright with mischief. 

 

He hesitates. She watches him take her in and she feels something warm through her bones. Something almost like happiness but not quite. 

 

She walks past him, shoulder brushing his and doesn’t stop to look behind her until she’s almost out of sight. He’s standing there, eyes fixed on her and hair blowing in the wind. 

 

“Do you feel brave, Tom Riddle?” she yells the words, lets them get caught in the wind. 

 

Even from a distance she can see the way his eyes narrow, the way he catches onto the phrase as something important, something meaningful. But slowly, he starts to follow her towards the forbidden forest. 

 

She has no idea what she’s going to do in this world. Knows that she promised herself that she would let Tom Riddle run unchecked in this time. Knows that she wants the universe to pay. 

 

But she also knows that there’s a small sliver of a soul inside her that yearns for the boy standing behind her. Knows that she can’t stand idly by while the world burns. Hermione always told her she had a saving people thing. She might as well start with the boy who’s now beside her. 

 

“What exactly are we going to do in the forest?” he asks, staring down at her, eyes dark with promise. 

 

“You’ll know when you see it.” she promises, slips her hand into his. Listens to her(his) soul hum in contentment and into the forest they go. 

 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is tentatively finished! I might add an epilogue on later because I still have some leftover thoughts circling about these two. So stay tuned for that but otherwise the story is done. 
> 
> I'm not 100% satisfied with the ending but I've also hit that point where I'm talking myself in circles and I'll fuck around with the chapter for another month if I think about it too much. 
> 
> This is actually the first multi-chaptered fic I've ever finished so, fuck yeah. 
> 
> I hope @auspicium(latenightfangirl) enjoys the ending! It was lovely writing this for you. 
> 
> Also, shoutout to @RedHorse for beta-ing this chapter and reassuring me that the ending didn't suck lol

**Author's Note:**

> My goal is to have this finished before authors are revealed but I'm also drowning in work and trying to move so we'll see. 
> 
> This was written for the lovely auspicium who wrote one of my favorite fem!harry stories and I honestly screamed when I realized I got to write them something! I hope you enjoy it!


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